Hey guys! Look, I'm just gonna be up font with you lot and say I'm sorry; life and work suck, especially when you're a simple part-time cashier (or tap-dancing monkey as I like to call it) working at Lowes and trying to juggle college along with a personal life. I am so sorry and hope you will forgive me.

Hopefully you all had a good Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, Christmas, and New Year.

Now that that is over: onto the more important stuff, like the story!

Thank you to Sakura9544, TC Howl, LoyalBlackWolf, AishaDream, IlianaPrime, Sfrizz5959, BarrelRacer1205, b. marr, Guest (1), Guest (2), Estella prime, Frost, ghost-reader, TimeKeeper, Steelcode, bajy, and those who favorited and followed myself and this story.

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers Prime or any other recognizable works.

Chapter 41: Near Fatal, Fatal Flaws

—Aria's POV, Dream—

I found myself staring at a familiar metallic landscape.

Just like before, the war-torn scene painted a melancholy image with the cloudy sky and ruined cities in the distance. But it still tugged at my heartstrings at the reminder of so much death and pain.

Why did wars have to begin in the first place? Why couldn't people sit down, maybe have heart to heart, but respect what ideas others brought to the table, and then compromise? Haven't we learned already what sort of suffering and pain war brings to those closest, whether they be willing participants in the carnage or innocent bystanders just watching?

But I suppose sometimes war was inevitable at times, though I may not like it. I mean peace and changes for the better were amazing and everything; but I hated the way they always seemed to be achieved. Yes, freedom is not free and we all have our differences. I just wished fighting wasn't the apparent answer to everything, including just about everything in my life.

Yeah, even I admit that I get tired of swinging my fists.

"Welcome back to Cybertron little phoenix," a deep, aged voice rumbled kindly to my left, shaking me out of my reverie.

Despite having never spoken directly to me before, the source of the old voice sounded familiar, bringing to mind memories of a great library and an inquisitive young mind in search of knowledge from a wizened but doting source.

"Hello Alpha Trion," I replied politely, turning and craning my neck back to look at the Cybertronian historian. Painted a couple interesting shades of violet with Cybertronian markings across his frame, the old mech's silvery metal beard twitched as he smiled kindly in my direction, dark cape billowing a little behind him. Once again, I noted how tall he was, even compared to beings like Megatron and Optimus.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" I asked, admittedly a little nervous despite the kindness my Prime's mentor showed. The last time I recalled being on this war-torn, dream-like plane; I had been close to death, or my physical form had been at least.

Glancing around a little, I almost expected to see the other Primes or even the Cybertronian deity of Light watching us. However, we were alone on the cliff ledge that had once been Primus' colossal hand. Only in my subconscious did I consider the chance that it might not be possible for the Creator to appear anymore now that his brother, Unicron, was put in stasis once more. After all, being derived from the same being, the two shared a close, interconnected bond so it would stand to reason that if one was asleep then the other was too; it was how the original Primes had defeated Unicron after all.

As if sensing my thoughts, the old being gave me a shrewd look. One that differed from his normal appearance of knowledgeability. "Worry not. We are alone. I merely wished to speak to you for a moment while we are still able."

Confused, I searched his gaze, wondering why someone as important as the historian would want to speak to me.

"I did what Primus asked," I told him, trying to remain as confident as possible. While Alpha Trion did smile and tried to appear kindly, part of me remained unnerved by him and his presence. Perhaps it was just a silly reaction. But due to my odd knowledge of the past, I felt wary as I knew he took a more philosophical attitude towards things, oftentimes showing a more analytical detachment towards others. Whatever the case though, I continued to speak. "I helped bring Optimus back, brought him the restored Matrix, and kept our team together in his presence. What more do I need to do?"

"I am aware," he told me calmly, despite what could have been taken as a rude tone. "But that is not exactly why I have come."

Growing impatient, I wanted to tell him to spit it out already. Maybe I never mentioned this before, but I despised it when others fancy-footed around whatever point they were making. Really, it was no wonder I despised politics. However, I held my tongue (barely) and waited for him to continue, which he thankfully did a moment later.

"Young one, do you really think all of this has happened to you by mere chance?" he queried, kneeling a little so he didn't tower over me as much. "That all you have gone through since your first encounter with Arcee and Bumblebee was merely luck of the draw as you humans say?"

Despite the ominous way he said it, I nodded warily. "Yes, I do. I don't really believe in fate or destiny, Alpha Trion, if that's what you're getting at. Only the path you make by your own hand and the occasional stroke of luck and encounter with coincidence. But that's it."

He huffed a little as if amused by my words. "I should have expected nothing else from one with your spirit."

Though the words were not spoken malevolently, I got the sneaking impression that I had just been insulted.

"Young Aria, there are many things beyond the reckoning of humans and cybertronian's alike, including fate and destiny. Though you may not realize it but in accepting your burden, you have marked yourself for a great many things."

"I do not understand." Where was he going with all this fate, nonsense crap?

The historian wore a mysterious smile, golden optics hinting at many things.

"You do not need to answer me, young one. But contemplate this: those trials you overcame to obtain the Matrix of Leadership, what was their intended purpose? I will tell you now that your discovery of the Covenant was no accident. As was your encounter with our last descendant."

Mind reeling, I didn't realize that the scene was beginning to blur and fade until I looked up at the Prime a moment too late.

"Take care of him, little phoenix. He needs a flame like yours to keep him steady and guide his way."

—Optimus Prime's POV—

Staring out the hospital window once more, Optimus appeared to the epitome of calm. However, in reality, his processor was anything but tranquil.

In the past few days, more questions and secrets had been disclosed than he had ever encountered. First, the human extremist group, MECH, unveiled their own copy of him and attacked his friends and team. Then, his beloved human charge and femme-friend (?)—he still wasn't sure about that—had been revealed to be working with from the inside with Ironhide's silent support to take them out (at least according to the weapon's specialist). To add to that though, she apparently had been discovered despite her best efforts and had nearly been killed only a couple hours before the entire imposter fiasco, barely managing to warn Agent Fowler before succumbing to her injuries.

That foolish, crazy femme.

But those events proved to be nothing compared to the ones that followed. Obeying a request that his femme had put in place as a contingency plan, a few members of the team went to her home and searched it for something she hinted held great importance.

According to Ironhide, the request proved to be easier said than done though. But they finally managed to do it after a lot of digging. Only, their search uncovered two of the most startling objects ever as well as a plethora of questions:

Hundreds of detailed sketches of moments taken from Cybertronian history, mech and femmes both known and unknown, and places that no longer existed due to the war. Many held detailed descriptions and knowledge of things long since lost. Stories that no one had heard since the dawn of the Cybertronian race itself. How did Aria come to know all of this?

But those sketches were nothing compared to the true jewel, which Aria had hidden in an ornate box in a hidden floor-panel underneath her bed. A Cybertronian relic he had assumed had been long since lost for all time.

The Co—

"You know I don't really believe in divine powers, but the guardian angel at my bedside is starting to make me think otherwise," said a low but familiar voice that belonged to only one person.

Optimus immediately drew out of his deep thoughts, previous one completely abandoned. Whirling to face the bed, his optics snapped immediately to meet a pair of grey eyes, causing his spark to soar. At long last, after several long and stressful days, Aria was finally awake.

The Prime should have been happy, joyous even. He should have immediately rushed over and embraced her and informed her in a scolding tone how worried he had been.

But the thing was, Optimus didn't know what to say anymore. As soon as his sapphire gaze met her greys, his processor seemed to go blank. His entire holoform frozen as if experiencing a glitch. Not even the Matrix of Leadership was giving him nudges like it usually did.

Luckily, after several seconds of silence, the blonde femme remedied that.

"Hey," she greeted simply, a small smile adorning her face. Even in hospital scrubs, bandages, and various machines hooked up to her body, she looked beautiful to him.

"Hey," he returned just as quietly, his optics only for her.

Gaze still seeming as sharp as ever, she let silence rein once more as she just looked at him. It was the sort of expression that gave him the impression she was searching for something in his face, only easing a little when she either did or didn't find whatever she was looking for.

"So you know just about everything now, huh?" she asked quietly.

He knew it wasn't a question but nodded anyway. Stepping closer, he retook the seat he had claimed while previously waiting for her to wake up.

"Yes."

Aria sighed. And for once, the Prime noticed the look of age behind those steely eyes of hers. It was a sort of look that should not have belonged on any other eighteen-year-old's face, but one he knew intimately existed due to her vast knowledge and varied experiences. Vaguely, he recalled either Ironhide or Ratchet once aptly describing that very same expression as "an old spark in a young frame."

Realizing that she wasn't going to start talking anytime soon, Optimus took hold of the conversation. "Why?" he asked softly.

"Why go through all the trouble of trying to take down MECH all on my own? Pretending to be one of them only to take them down from the inside?" she tried to finish only for him to shake his head.

"Why continuously put yourself in danger time and time again without any regard for your own safety?" he demanded, eyes searching hers.

She kept quiet for a moment, obviously thinking.

"You know there is a quote by a man named Edmund Burke. He says that 'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing'," Aria quoted in reply in that calm but stubborn way of hers that sometimes irked him.

Despite his inability to conjure the proper words at the moment, Optimus wanted very much to roll his optics and question the heavens. Primus, why did his femme have to be so… so… impossible at times? Why did she have to be so stubbornly noble? All the same, some part of him fell even more deeply for her, knowing her actions were her way of showing she cared.

He wanted to try to say something more, but something in her face stopped him.

She was looking around, wary eyes following the movements of the people on the other side of the sliding glass door to the room. Shivering a little as if cold, the golden-haired girl hugged herself, one of her hands notably covering the marred part of her arm. She looked…disturbed, possibly even a little scared as the heart monitor picked up its pace

"I really hate hospitals," she muttered to herself, though he still heard, shuddering once again.

He sighed. Later, Optimus would get answers out of her later.

—Aria's POV—

"I really hate hospitals," I muttered to myself, eyeing all the passing doctors and nurses outside the door with wariness and mistrust. Now, I wasn't afraid of them like I was of enclosed spaces. But in the past, I usually only found myself in a hospital ward for one sole reason.

Almost unconsciously, I touched my arm, the permanently disfigured one. Hand coming up to almost shield it from the world. Once again, I found myself slipping from the present to listen to the whispers of the past.

—Flashback—

Young Aria only pretended to be asleep, listening to the not-so-quiet whispers of the doctor and nurse talking outside her room with her eyes closed.

"…She shouldn't still have that arm…"

"…It's a miracle she even still has it…"

"…She'll have a lot of complications in the future…It probably would have been merciful if she had lost it instead…"

"…An entire section of muscle completely removed! How will she even function in everyday life…"

"It's such a disgusting injury…She'll have it for the rest of her life…"

"…I'll have a conversation with her tomorrow…try to convince her…she's better off without…remove it…"

"…Weak…likely won't be string enough…She'd have been better off dead…"

Aria fought back tears, doing her best to block out their words. She didn't want to listen anymore, but their words haunted her mind. They couldn't remove her arm. She wouldn't let them. She'd prove to them that she was strong and not as weak as they thought.

Aria refused to ever be so weak again.

—End Flashback—

Feeling a touch on my shoulder, I jumped violently, head snapping to my right only to find the Prime smiling softly at me with concern in his eyes.

Watching him, he gestured silently for me to move over, which I hesitantly did. Brows arched, I gave him a questioning look, as if to ask "what are you up to?"

But I found out a moment later as he sat down next to me, making a small "eep!" sound of surprise in the back of my throat when he the pulled me into his lap. The second thing I soon learned, was how warm the Prime's holoform was, even for an artificial light construct.

"Everything is alright, little one," he breathed in my ear, making me shiver a little. I was suddenly very aware of how thin the hospital gown was. "Relax. Sleep. I will still be here when you wake up."

Cheeks feeling a little hot, I stiffly leaned back into his chest, feeling as he brought his arms to encircle around my waist.

"Relax," he encouraged, seeming oblivious to my reaction of him, even as the annoying heart monitor picked up pace.

"Sorry," I automatically muttered, head now resting on one of his shoulders.

"It is alright," he soothed. "I am not hurting you, am I?"

I shook my head, eyes closed. "No I'm good."

Primus, can I just die of embarrassment now before he notices anything?

Even my ears felt hot, but I never once tried to do anything about it, in case I drew attention to it accidentally.

"I didn't always have an injured arm you know," I suddenly blurted out when even the descending silence became much too uncomfortable for me to handle.

"I was eight when it happened. After running away, I had been living on the streets for nearly half a year with my mentors when a man kidnapped me one night and…attacked me."

Optimus' grip tightened on my waist, keeping me grounded as I continued to talk about one of the worst nights of my life—second only to one other, which had happened less than a year later. After so long keep all the pain bottled up, I realized how good it felt to finally talk about it with someone I trusted enough to listen.

"I remember everything that happened that night after waking up in that dingy room, strapped to a metal table or chair of some kind, unable to move with my limbs tied down, with a bright light of some kind shining in my face, and that butcher carving into my skin. I couldn't move at all—he gave me something paralyze me—but I could feel pain. I felt every single stroke, cut, and incision he made as he cut me apart like I was some animal being dissected in biology. It hurt so much and I couldn't even scream as I watched him take me apart piece by piece.

"I don't even know how I escaped. I must have blacked out or something. But one moment, he was standing over me, laughing and singing as he stood over me. The next, I was running through some alleyway towards the abandoned building I was staying in with my mentors. I barely managed to get there before passing out.

"When I woke up next, I was lying in a hospital bed like this one. They told me I was lucky to be alive. But you know the worst part? According to the doctors, nothing beyond my skin was severely damaged. In fact, aside from part of one of my muscles being cut away and excessive blood loss, I would have been fine, which only meant one thing."

"Only a doctor or skilled surgeon could have done it," Optimus finished looking horrified.

I nodded weakly. "Yeah, and now my right arm will never be the same again. It will always be weaker thank my left one no matter what I do. Not to mention, I have to take vitamin shots and use special ointments and creams every once in a while to help prevent sudden bleeding from my exposed veins, though it still happens occasionally when I'm stressed or overly emotional and haven't used any of the shots or creams in a bit. It's part of why I keep it covered nowadays since the bandages help trap a small amount of moisture in there and also keep contaminants and things like dust out."

Inhaling deeply, I released a low sigh. "It didn't really matter that I survived that encounter though. Less than a year later, that monster killed almost all my friends and made me watch as he cut them apart too before slitting their throats for good measure."

I didn't even realize I was crying until I felt a warm, gentle hand wipe away my tears while the other hugged me close, rubbing soothing circles over my arms. Optimus.

Turning with some difficulty because of all the wires and tubes hooked up to me, I faced him, heart almost melting when he pressed tender kisses to both my eyelids and on my tearstained cheeks as well, literally kissing away my tears. And when he was done, he let me rest my head on his shoulder, face nestled into the crook of his neck and eyes closed, while he rested his cheek gently against my forehead with an errant hand running through my hair.

Never once did he ask for anything in return.

In all likelihood, if I were a cat, I would have probably been purring. But as it stood…

Out of nowhere, a wave of drowsiness slammed into me full force, and I found myself falling sound asleep not a second later. The sound of a steady sparkbeat playing in my ears.

—Two and a Half Weeks Later—

Glancing around the hospital lobby, I assured myself none of the staff were paying attention before making a break for it, only to quickly duck into a doorway right across the hall when I spotted another doctor heading my way. Ignoring the slight ache in my leg, I peered through the crack I left behind me and nearly groaned aloud when I saw that the doctor had stopped right outside to talk to another nurse. Hissing softly, I closed the door fully, knowing I was effectively trapped for the time being. I knew I had about five to ten more minutes before someone was scheduled to check on me more. Then they would know I had escaped. But hopefully, I would be long gone by then.

Suddenly, I winced again when the pain in my leg increased.

Dammit.

Looking around the room I had decided to hide myself in, I realized I had somehow managed to end up in the bathroom of all things. Well at least no one would intrude on me here without a reason. At least I hoped so.

Back resting against the door, I slid down slowly onto the cool tile floor, hissing all the way like a snake or something.

"Ah fuck," I muttered, massaging the injured limb.

I really hated this. Ever since I got myself shot in the leg, it had been nothing but "rest", "rest", "rest" from the doctors. Sure, I knew I needed to let myself heal, but I wasn't as severely injured as most gunshot victims.

Yes, two of the slugs had to be removed from my back since they didn't go all the way through like the first. Then another had grazed my left shoulder while the last had torn through my right thigh. Only by some miracle had all of them missed any major points, organs or bones. It was the poison that had really done a number.

Besides, the doctors said I was recovering more quickly than they anticipated. That had to mean something, right? But those damn idiots with a supposedly "higher education" wouldn't let me go!

They wouldn't even let me use the rehabilitation gym for a light upper body workout!

Grumbling under my breath, I looked towards the sink before hauling my ass off the floor once more, stumbling a little before managing to right myself by leaning heavily on the edge of the basin. Sparing a glance at the mirror, I noted my appearance, flushed from slight exertion.

Fumbling with the handle for the cold water, a sigh escaped my lips as I scooped the cool liquid up in my hands and splashed it on my face.

Maybe escaping today wasn't such a great idea.

More water came in contact with my face, feeling even colder and more mentally clarifying than the last as I mentally shook myself.

No, I can do it, I assured myself, watching my reflection once more.

Now that I actually had time to look at myself, I realized how sick I looked under my exerted flush, like I was getting over a cold or something. My eyes looked a little sunken, with faint shadows underneath, and my face a pasty pale color, natural tan somewhat faded so the scars on my face blended in a little more than usual.

Then another thought struck me as my eyes caught on a certain hint of black against my pale skin. One hand still braced on the porcelain basin, I reached up and pulled my unrestrained gold locks away from the right side of my face, throwing it all over my left shoulder as I took the chance to peer at the spot behind my ear.

Like last time, it closely resembled a spot of black grease. But now I wasn't so sure. A few weeks had passed since I obtained the mark, and it didn't show any signs of fading. In fact, the black mark seemed clearer than ever, feeling almost slightly raised beneath my touch.

However, none of this disputed one clear fact: the so-called "grease spot" was shaped exactly like the cybertronian symbol for Prime.

My mind wandered back to the dream I had a couple nights ago, where Alpha Trion had ominously hinted at something I dare not even think at the moment. Sure, I had passed those trials to re-energize the Matrix, and strange things had started happening around me, like random health problems, mysterious grease-spots, and even the odd one in one-hundred chance miracles. But to even hint that I was…? No, just no.

Yet despite my vehement denial, a small feeling of doubt still niggled at the back of my mind.

I gave myself a shake. Staying at the hospital had given me too much time to think.

Really, none of that was important right now. I needed to get out of here.

Forcing myself to stand on my own two feet, I made my way back towards the door, opening it only a smidge to find the coast was clear.

Finally.

Without further ado, I slipped out the door, heading for the stairs. No one would expect me to escape that way; people always opted to use the elevator as it required less effort than the stairs.

In any case, at long last, my goal was in sight. Just a couple more steps, and I—

"Miss Phoenyx!"

Dammit! I was so close too…

Turning to face my doom, I glared at Doctor Cranston, the doctor in charge of my recovery, who was likewise giving me a disapproving expression.

"How many times have I told you that you need to be resting?" he demanded rhetorically as he marched forward, seizing my shoulder (the uninjured one) and steering me back towards my room. "This is the fifth time already. You will not heal if you do not attempt to take the appropriate time to rest and heal!"

"You also said that I am healing faster than most," I argued back. "And that I might be able to go home soon."

The somewhat shorter man huffed. "'Might' being the operative word. But at the rate you are going, you will be stuck here at least another week."

"Well, if you don't want me to attempt to escape so often, doc, then give me something to do. Let me use the gym to work on my upper body."

"With that injured shoulder? Absolutely not! You will tear the stitches."

"I'm not an ignorant child, Doctor Cranston!" I snarled, as he forced me to sit back on the hospital bed. "I know my limits. But I would rather strengthen what I can while you force the rest of me to waste away to nothing."

Now he adopted that tone of voice that was better suited for a parent gently scolding their child. "Miss Phoenyx, with your current injuries as well as those sustained to your internal organs from the poison and your…less-than-whole arm, I highly doubt a young girl like you could lift ten pounds, let alone your own weight."

He did not just say what I think he said!

Unknown to me, my grey eyes flashed.

"For your information, I am eighteen-years-old, going on nineteen soon, and I weigh one-hundred fifty-five pounds, and I can easily lift a man your size, let alone your weight, even with my "not-so-whole" arm as you put it. But in the long run, my age, gender, or physical condition shouldn't matter because I can still knock misogynistic pig like yourself on your ass with one fist. Now get out of my room before I start screaming rape."

He did just that, scrambling away faster than a rabbit on steroids.

God, I fucking hated hospitals, especially the doctors.

—Five Days Later—

Growling in aggravation, I ignored the doctors hovering nearby as I attempted to heave myself out of the chair using the two handlebars before me. I could hear one of the nurses tut-tutting to my left. Not that I cared. No, my goal was to be able walk more than a couple steps without any help at all. If I could do that, then I wouldn't need to use the freaking wheelchair the medical staff kept insisting that I use every single time I wanted to step more than an millimeter out of my jail cell, -er I mean room. I'd be damned if I let it come to that.

Mark my words. I would be walking out of this hospital.

In any case, if you couldn't tell, my road to recovery so far had been a long one. Though I had been healing quite nicely, being confined to bedrest was not ideal when it came to someone like me. I did not do 'downtime' if you haven't figured it out already. And I'm pretty sure my doctors and attending nurses felt similarly as I did. There would be no love lost between either party when I finally left. (Admittedly, I acted a tad more snappish than strictly necessary, but I blamed it on my stir-craziness from being stuck in a hospital bed too long and my unwavering wariness of doctors and the like).

Speaking of which, as I gathered all of my strength (both mental and physical), my mind started to drift a little, blocking out the overall stiff pain coming from my legs by focusing on something else.

As surprising as it sounded, Agent Fowler had actually visited me a couple days ago. Sure, the man acted stiff and somewhat cranky as he usually did, but he behaved himself for once, acting quite nice and even a little awkward since he probably wasn't used to visiting anyone's bedside in the hospital.

Still…

—Flashback—

The day Fowler visited me; I knew that what he had to say was either really bad or really good.

It had been two weeks since I was initially hospitalized. Optimus wasn't here. He had attended a military hearing the previous night with several of Agent Fowler's superiors as well as mentioned agent, and he wouldn't be back until tomorrow to check on me. Everyone else seemed to be avoiding me.

So when Agent Fowler entered my room, nervously holding a small bouquet of flowers in his hands, I warily watched him over the top of "Arabic for Beginners", not saying anything as I place marked where I left off.

"H-hello, Aria," he finally said.

"Hello, Suit," I greeted coolly, acting for all the world as if we were only having a pleasant conversation over coffee. If he was about to interrogate me, I wasn't about to make it easy for him to make enough conversation for him to butter me up.

"I brought some flowers," he continued, holding up the bundle of brightly colored blossoms with a "get well soon!" card sticking out of it.

"Thank you."

The nervous tension from him grew. "H-How are you?"

"Fine, thank you for asking." My expression betrayed nothing but polite appreciation.

His nervousness grew, and I figured that what he had to say was likely very important to make him this nervous. Typically, he'd be marching in and demanding answers in an angry tone left and right, but the man seemed put off, likely unsure how to confront someone who had recently been injured and likely been through a traumatic experience in his mind.

"Seen the others lately?" he tried again to keep the heavy silence at bay.

"No. Aside from Optimus, you are the first to visit. I suspect the others are still suspicious of me for hiding everything."

The awkwardness increased tenfold as the silenced reigned, with only the steady beeping of the machines filling it in. Eventually though, the tension seemed to become too much for him, and any restraint he had, broke.

"Look, I just wanted to thank you on behalf myself and my superiors. You've done a great service to us and your country, even at the risk of your own life." Then he paused, now watching my expression more closely. Here comes the bad news no doubt. "However, we do have a couple questions for you—"

"Here it comes," I muttered.

"But considering who your father is—"

Cue the red lights, screaming bells and whistles, danger and warning signs.

"He's not my father!" I half-shouted, temper immediately rising along with my blood pressure. While I hated any mention of my mother, any comment regarding my father received a reaction ten times worse.

Poor Fowler looked shocked speechless at my outburst, watching me with wide eyes as I growled at him like some angry lion.

"Don't you dare ever talk to me about that- that man!" You have no idea how close I came in that one moment to saying the word 'monster' instead. "I do not ever want to get special treatment or anything when it comes to that fragging two-bit bastard. When you deal with me, you deal with me. Not the president, not Abraham Lincoln, not my male genetic donor. Me," I said, gesturing to myself. "And if you are here to lecture me, I will tell you this only once: I did what I had to do because I knew I had the skillset for it, and I have no regrets whatsoever." Okay, that last part was a bit of a stretch, but in my (justified) ire my words came to be less concise and more blunt, as you can obviously see. "Say what you want about me, to me. But never, ever mention that fragger to me again!"

—Flashback End—

I blinked when a drip of sweat got into my eye. I was now back where I started, but facing my godforsaken wheelchair this time.

After I had gone off on Fowler, we somehow managed to get back on topic and basically Fowler gave me debriefing on just about everything related to MECH and a couple of the other 'cases' I worked over the years. But never once did he touch the subject of my father again.

Still, I had trouble forgetting that conversation. While I was more than fully aware that Fowler would likely do background checks on myself and the kids after meeting us initially, the mention of my father still managed to be nothing short of a shock considering the secretive nature of the sore subject. It might as well have been a cold slap in the face after basking in the warm sun.

In other words, I should have known better; I should have known that something involving him would come back to bite me in the ass eventually. But I just prayed that this little mention of him was all I'd hear of him for a while yet. If it could be helped, I never wanted to deal with that slagging asshole for at least an entire century.

Yes, yes, I know it was a short chapter. But can you blame me? (Probably). Trust me, the chapter was going to be a bit longer but I decided to save a portion of it for a more Valentines day based one-shot since it really has nothing to do with the main story here. Also, I am aware that my bad news streak with Aria is probably getting repetitive and annoying but 1) Aria can't be kick-butt all the time, and 2) developing Aria's character isn't exactly a cakewalk ya know?! Still, you will be happy to know that I am planning on making things a lot better as things heat up in the main cannon and I am seriously considering a sequel to this story once I work on the characters for it.

Anyways, as you can see, Aria has woken up and she's really starting to open up to our resident Prime. Still, with all these weird things going on around her, you have to wonder a little about the meaning behind Alpha Trion's ominous rumblings. Still, don't worry, our favorite girl will be back in action in the next chapter. Along with a little reveal about "what's in the box?" as everyone keeps asking me.

Well, you lot know the drill, Five-Review Policy is still in effect. And please check out my polls!

Hope you all had a great New Year!